Seventy two Hours
by Rae Roberts
Summary: We've read the trilogy, seen the movies; we all know orcs are irredeemably evil...but what if they weren't ? Three short days might change a life forever. Rated for orcish violence. Complete.
1. Prologue

Author's note and disclaimer: Here's my first attempt at a LOTR fic, definitely not my usual kind of thing. This was inspired by two scenes from the movie: The "birth" of Saruman's force of Uruk-hai, and those two adorable little refugee kids from Rohan.

Rated PG-13 for violence and extreme lack of good sentence structure.

We all know none of us own anything, right ? Right. Enjoy.

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Prologue

At first there is nothing but the darkness, the pressure, the rage. Then comes the moment when he opens his eyes. Then the light, the release, the first indrawn breath. The rage bursting forth in a howl of defiance. The echoes fade, the second breath is drawn, awareness comes. He is Hass-ur, of the fighting Uruk-hai. The sword, the bow, the barbed black arrows. The will to fight, the thirst for the kill. The armor of leather and steel, the mark of the White Hand on the forehead. These come naturally to Hass-ur. He is a weapon, servant of Saruman, forged in the pits of Orthanc.

Now they leave the Tower, on the run. The will to fight, the rage, the lash of the whip. The moon looks down on the fighting Uruk-hai. _The moon looks down on all, even the Master. _Hass-ur keeps this thought to himself, as he keeps most thoughts. He has learned not to speak of them. That lesson did not come naturally. The thoughts of Hass-ur are not quite the same as those of the rest of his brothers.

Now, the first battle. The rush of adrenaline, the cut and thrust of the sword. The blood, the joy. No need to think of bothersome forbidden thoughts, just the will to fight. One hundred voices raise the battle-cry as one. Hass-ur roars his cry of rage in perfect unison with his brothers. The humans fall before the fighting Uruk-hai.

The pounding of blood stops. Breathing slows to normal. The red battle-rage fades away. Hass-ur looks down the length of his sword at the dying human . Sightless eyes stare up at him, each holding a piece of the day-time sky. Hass-ur stares back. The human lets out his last breath. The eyes go opaque, flat. Hass-ur pulls his blade free. He turns away.

The fighting Uruk-hai sweep across the Riddermark. The rage, the will to fight. The lash of the whip, the promise of man-flesh to eat. Pounding hearts, pounding feet in iron hob-nailed boots. The sun beats down. A village appears on the horizon. The men charge out to meet the fighting Uruk-hai. The second battle. The rush of adrenaline, the slash of the sword, the humans' eyes, flat and dull even before death. _This is fear that I see in their eyes. _The battle-rage, the joy. The humans fall back to their village. Hass-ur kicks down a cottage door. The man inside howls rage and defiance, his eyes holding the depths of the river. He swings his sword. Hass-ur watches the blade come down in slow-motion. He bats it aside easily, plunges his own blade home. The blood, the fear. The eyes, opaque, without depth anymore.

Hass-ur pulls his blade out, kicks the body aside. He steps through the door, finds a female. Hass-ur grabs her by the hair. He bares his teeth. He has not yet killed a female. Her eyes look into his. There is the sky again, the depths of the river. _No fear... not yet. There will be. _She clutches a knife. Hass-ur watches her hand tense on the hilt. He can see the blow coming in the whiteness of her knuckles, again in slow-motion. She will slash up, seeking the gap between the black breastplate and the shoulder-guard. She will not succeed. He will break her arm, throw her to the ground, fall upon her as he has seen his brothers do to other human women. His lips pull back from his teeth, a smile. The woman sees her doom in his smile. She turns the knife in her hand, stabs it into her own body before Hass-ur can react. His eyes widen. Hers look into his, still holding their pieces of sky. She spits in his face as she dies. Hass-ur lowers her to the floor. _There was never any fear. No fear at all. That is courage. _The thought pounds through his mind like the blood pounding through his body.

"Run, you maggots ! On, on !" The curses and shouts of his brothers. The whips of the leaders. The sun, setting, a red eye in the sky. The pounding of his blood, his thoughts. The pounding of iron-shod feet. Then the pounding of hooves, the Riders of Rohan. Turn, stand and fight. The battle cry of the Uruk-hai, roaring defiance. The third battle. The red battle-rage, the red setting sun. Pounding hooves, pounding heart, his arms, strong, dragging a rider from the saddle. The sword slash, the blood, the joy. Then the scream of the horse, the hooves, trampling. The pain, the howl of defiance, the darkness closing in.

At first, there is nothing but the darkness, the pain. Then comes the moment when Hass-ur opens his eyes. The moon looks down on him. The battle has moved on, his brothers gone on to fight again, or lying dead around him. The Rohirrim lie scattered among the Uruk-hai. All but Hass-ur are dead. He is alone for the first time in his short life. _No, not alone. The moon is here. The moon looks down on me still. I live._ Then the pain pounds in his head, driving out thought.

One thing is left. The will to live, the will to fight. Under the cold white eye of the moon, Hass-ur crawls from the battle-ground.


	2. The First Day

"I'm afraid, Eothain. I want mama."

"When we get to Edoras, she'll find us there. I promise. Go to sleep now."

"But I'm afraid."

"I'll stand guard. Nothing will hurt you, Freda. Now go to sleep."

Hass-ur has crawled into the straw, into the shadows in the back of the barn. Fading in and out, he hears the voices as though from far away. Human, but higher-pitched than the battle-cries of men, softer than the screams of women. He opens his eyes. The pain pounds in his head, in his leg. Hass-ur lies in the straw and watches the children, unseen. The girl-child sleeps in the straw. The boy stands guard. The sun rises higher in the sky. After a long time, the boy slumps, sits on the dirt floor. Sitting, his head nods. He jerks upright, nods again, is still. Hass-ur can hear his breathing, slow and steady. Hass-ur crawls forward, slow and steady. The bones of his leg grind against each other, shattered. His teeth grind against each other, holding back a scream of pain, of defiance. Hass-ur grabs the human girl-child by the hair. His sword is in his hand. Her eyes snap open, stare into his. He can smell her fear, see it in her blue-sky eyes. Hass-ur licks his lips, struggles to speak the common tongue. "Call him. Call the boy."

She blinks. "Eothain..."

He is awake in an instant, drawing a terrified breath, drawing his little dagger. "Obey, or I kill her." The sword is at her throat.

"What do you want ? Don't...don't hurt her." The boy's voice is a whisper. _Fear. Fear...but also defiance._ His knuckles are white on the hilt of his dagger. There is nothing to watch for, no need to slow time to a crawl. There is nothing the boy can do.

"Food. Drink." Hass-ur growls. _This little maggot, half-grown human. I need his help._ The thought brings rage. _I, Hass-ur of the fighting Uruk-hai, taking help from a boy-maggot ? Better to die. _Rage and pain. _No. I live. I will live. _The indrawn breath. "...Help me."

The boy reaches for a pack, slowly. The girl lies still, eyes fixed on Hass-ur, deep as the river. "Don't hurt her...here, here's some water." He holds out the water-skin.

Hass-ur moves the sword back a hair's breadth. "Take it." The girl-child reaches for the water, hands it to him. He drinks, cautious, watching the boy, holding the sword against the girl's neck. She cries out but does not move. His hand has trembled, the blade has drawn blood. He moves the blade back another hair's breadth. The cut is shallow. Her eyes, deep as the sky, deep as the river. Watching him. Afraid. Hass-ur draws a breath, snarls. The blood-smell fills his mind, sweet, reminding him of his hunger. _Food. _The word follows the thought. He does not need to keep this thought to himself. Not with these helpless children. "Food. Now. Or do you want this girl to be my dinner ?"

The boy-child's eyes are wide, full of fear. "There's no more food. We ate the last of it. Please."

The smell of blood, of soft, tasty human flesh. No. His leg is shattered. He needs the boy's help. _Patience_, he thinks. "Hunt, then. Get food. Go."

"Just, just hold still, Freda. Please. Don't hurt her." With a last fearful look back, the boy goes.

Hass-ur shifts his weight. The shattered leg bones shift too. Sky-eyes stare at him. "You're an orc. You're hurt, aren't you. The Rohirrim...they kill orcs." He ignores her. The water-skin has a cord wrapped around it, meant to hang it from a saddle. He fumbles with the knot, gets the cord off, ties a slip-knot around the girl-child's neck, wraps the other end around his wrist. They wait.

Then the boy is back, a rabbit dangling from his hand. The blood-smell fills Hass-ur's mind. "Food. Now." The boy tosses it to him. Hass-ur grabs, tears the fur with sharp nails, rips into the flesh with sharp teeth. Blood fills his mouth, sweet, satisfying his hunger, giving him strength. The children watch, sky-eyes, river-eyes wide.

Then the girl speaks. "I'm hungry too."

"Shh, Freda !"

"But, I'm hungry too."

Hass-ur rips off a strip of meat, pushes it at the girl. _Why not ? _This will take time. She does not need to suffer, yet. She needs to live, to make the boy do his bidding.

"_Eew_. Not raw, you have to cook it. I'm not an orc !" She tries to push the bloody meat back into his hand.

"You want food, you eat. Now."

"No." Rain begins to fall from eyes the color of the sky.

Hass-ur watches, the meat in his hand and the pain in his leg forgotten. _No fear...what is this rain ? More defiance ? From a human-maggot-child ? _

"I want meat too ! _Cooked_ meat !" The rain runs down her cheeks.

He shrugs, throws the remains of the carcass at the boy. "Cook, then." The boy catches the meat and takes it outside, casting back a despairing look. Blue eyes, dull. Hopeless fear. Hass-ur looks at the girl. The rain has stopped as quickly as it began. The smell of smoke, of roasting meat. The girl-child watches him.

"What's your name ?" He ignores. She persists. "What's your name, orc ?"

"Quiet, little maggot."

"I am _not_ a little maggot. I'm a _big_ girl. I'm four-and-a-half years old. Almost five." Her piping voice pounds in his ears. His head pounds. Pain. Helpless rage. "My name's Freda. What's yours ?"

He sighs, snarls. "Hass-ur. Of the fighting Uruk-hai. Now be quiet." She blinks, opens her mouth to comment. _No fear. Stupid maggot-child. _He leans close, growls, showing all his pointed yellow teeth, a shred of bloody meat caught between two fangs. The girl's mouth snaps shut. Then the boy-maggot returns with food. Cooked food. Acceptable food for a weak, stupid little human. She takes it, chews, is finally quiet. Hass-ur pulls her closer, holds her against his chest. He wraps the leash tighter around his wrist. The boy watches, hands clenched in fists. Hass-ur bares his teeth, smiles at the boy, strokes the girl's hair with one black pointed nail. Then he dozes, drifting in a red haze of pain. Time passes. He wakes. White moonlight fills the barn. Pain, endless pain. He will die without the boy's help. Rage. Hass-ur waits until the red haze of rage fades. _Patience. _"Boy. Come here." Slowly, reluctantly, the boy comes closer. The girl sleeps, heartbeat slow and steady against his chest. Hass-ur sets her aside, within easy reach. Gently, carefully. _If she wakes, she'll talk again. _"My leg is broken. You help me, she lives another day." The boy nods. Hass-ur can smell his fear, his helpless anger. "Armor. Take it off." The boy takes off the black metal shin guard, struggling with the buckles. He tugs off the iron-nailed boot, the leather legging. Hass-ur grits his teeth, biting back the pain as the maggot-child's efforts jar his bones. "Set it. Make it straight again," he growls.

"I'll try. It's going to hurt," the boy says. A shard of bone protrudes through the torn flesh of the orc's leg. Looking at it, the boy swallows hard. "I don't know if I can. Just, please, don't hurt my sister."

Hass-ur bares his teeth, barks out a harsh laugh. "The fighting Uruk-hai do not fear pain." He holds up the leash. "Make it straight again. Or I kill her."

"No ! Please, no. I'll make it straight." Rain falls from the boy's eyes. He wipes it away angrily, takes hold of the orc's leg, tugs and pulls with all his small strength.

Hass-ur clenches his fists, bites his lip until blood runs down his chin. His eyes clench shut on a red blur of agony that does not fade. He does not cry out. _The Uruk-hai do not fear pain. _The boy makes splints, bandages, cleans the wound, wraps the leg tight. Hass-ur watches his ministrations, willing himself to stay alert, but fading, drifting. Thoughts drift and fade, impossible to hold on to. Slowly, the pain recedes. Slowly, awareness comes back. The smell of fear, the silent intake of breath. Hass-ur's eyes snap open. He jerks the leash tight. The maggot-boy is kneeling by the girl-child, dagger poised to cut the cord binding her to Hass-ur. She wakes and starts to wail. The boy turns his dagger on Hass-ur, eyes filled with fear, with defiance. _He fears, yet still he fights. Why ? What does it mean ? _Hass-ur's sword has been dragged out of his reach. He watches the little dagger descend in slow-motion. He pulls the wailing girl to him, slow-motion, black-clawed fingers closing around her neck. "Step back, or I snap her head off."

Time returns to its normal pace. The boy scrambles back. His lips curl in a snarl. "Hurt her again, and I swear, I will kill you. If it's the last thing I do, I'll kill you."

Those eyes. Still holding the depths of the river, still filled with fear, still filled with defiance. Hass-ur stares into the boy's eyes, tries to understand. _So. Courage is not the lack of fear. Courage is the will to fight on, in spite of fear. That is courage._

He lets go of the girl-child's neck, holds her against his chest. His leg is stretched out, splinted, straight. The pounding of the pain is much less. "Quiet now," he tells the girl. He pats her back, gently, awkwardly. She hiccups and stops her wailing. He watches the boy, slumped against the wall, blue eyes raining tears down his face. "Sleep. Sleep now, boy. We all live another day."


	3. The Second Day

Hass-ur wakes before dawn and crawls to the door of the barn. The pain in his leg is less. The maggot-child has served him well. Still, each movement is agony. _I am Uruk-hai. The Uruk-hai do not fear pain._ He pulls himself upright against the door frame, tests the splinted leg. It will not hold his weight.

Hass-ur growls, biting back the urge to roar his frustration to the dark sky. His nostrils flare. The smell of horse-flesh, a soft snort. Why has he not noticed the beast before ? He makes his way outdoors, leaning heavily against the wall. The horse grazes nearby. It tosses its head, rolls one large brown eye, then returns its attention to the grass. Hass-ur snarls. _The third battle, the war-horse screaming, rearing high in the air, kicking, trampling._ He touches the gash on his head. Pain. Confusion. He had not even noticed the horse, yesterday. _Weakness. Failure. _The thoughts rush through his mind. The horse has borne the children here, stayed nearby although it is not tied. It is loyal. The horse, watching him warily, snorts. Hass-ur echoes, a snort of contempt. _Loyalty. More weakness._ Stupid horse. The horse could be made to carry him, perhaps. With the girl-maggot. She can be used again. To make the horse obey him. As the boy obeys, for the same reason.

Hass-ur drags himself back into the barn. The human children sleep. He eases back on the straw, easing the pain in his battered leg, wrapping the girl-child's leash around his wrist. His hostage. His little whip, to make the others do his bidding. Soon, she stirs. Her face is tight with concern, her eyes wide. "I have to go."

"No. You stay with me."

She is standing now, shifting her weight from foot to foot, as far from the orc as the leather cord will allow. "But, I have to _go_." He shakes his head, jerks the leash. Her lip trembles. "I have to go _now_."

Oh. Is that all ? Stupid maggot. "So go."

River-blue eyes fill, threaten to overflow. "Not here -"

The boy-maggot is on his knees, scrambling close to Hass-ur. "Let her go outside for just a minute. We aren't going to run away from you." His voice is soft, reasonable. "We know there isn't any use."

"Good." The leather cord trails from his wrist. The girl-child retreats.

"Don't wander far, Freda," the boy says. _Run ! Run far away, as fast as you can. _Hass-ur reads the thought in the boy's eyes. They wait. Hass-ur can feel the boy tense, smell his fear, his courage. He catches the blue eyes with his own, reads the defiance there. _Punch, kick the broken leg...draw the dagger, stab the leg...stab anywhere...slash the face...claw the eyes... _Hass-ur reads each thought in the boy-maggots eyes, watches him abandon each as hopeless. Hass-ur laughs, pats the boy on the head. The eyes go flat.

The girl returns. The sun rises. She chatters, tethered to Hass-ur. He ignores her. She touches his face, hesitant. "You can't help it that you're ugly, can you ? Let's clean your face, maybe that will help."

"Stop it, Freda." The boy's voice is dull, defeated.

The girl-child ignores him, wetting a kerchief with the water-skin, wiping the orc's face. Little hands. Soft hands. _Hands that do not compel obedience. That do not inflict pain. _The thoughts confuse Hass-ur. He can find no words for the girl's actions, no meaning in them. He growls, bats the bothersome hands away, pushes the bothersome thoughts out of his mind. Horses' hooves, pounding, pounding. A patrol, not far away. Rage, hot and red. Hass-ur curses his weakness. _I cannot run. I cannot fight. _"Boy. Listen." Hass-ur pulls the boy-child back into the deeper shadows of the barn. "Riders come, soon. You get rid of them. Send them away."

"How ? I can't !"

"Send them away. Or else-"

The boy's eyes are opaque, without depth, without hope. His voice is sullen. "Or else you'll kill Freda. I know."

_If the whip falls too often in the same rhythm, the flesh becomes numb to its sting. _Hass-ur pulls the boy closer. Gently. He pats his arm. "No. I won't kill your sister." He licks his lips, struggles to find the right words. "She's a ...pretty little girl." Hope returns, blooms across the boy's face. His cheeks flush red. Hass-ur smiles, raises a callused, clawed hand to the boy's face. "I'll tear out her eyes." The color drains away, the eyes fill with horror. He caresses the side of the boy-maggot's white face. "Fail me, and your sister will live. Without her sight. Without her... beauty." One razor-sharp claw strokes the boy's cheek. Softly. Gently. "You're a smart boy. You can do this for me. For the girl. Send them away."

The voices of human men, the panting of horses. "This croft has been abandoned. Like the others."

"You there, lad. Where has your family gone ?"

The boy, just outside the barn door, his voice trembling. The reek of fear. "I-I don't know, sir. We fled our village. A day's ride back. Dunlanders attacked there, and fierce orcs..."

The mutters of the men. "Orcs-" "The wildmen-" "The villages, unprotected-"

The leader issues orders. "You. Take the boy's horse, it's rested. Ride fast as you can to Meduseld. Warn the King." Then, kindly, "Come, lad, you can ride behind me."

Terror. Hass-ur can smell it from his hiding-place in the straw, hugging the girl-child close. "I can't leave my sister, sir. Sh-she's sick."

"We can bring her along too, lad."

"No ! N-no, she's not well enough to ride. She's got a fever, bad," the boy-maggot babbles. "Her throat's all swollen, she can't talk. And – and she's all red and splotchy. D-do you think she'll be all right, sir ?"

A long pause. In Hass-ur's arms, the girl-child holds her breath. "Sure I do, lad. Sure. I'll send someone back to fetch you both tomorrow."

_Lies. Why does the leader lie to the boy ? What does he gain from it ?_

More muttering. "Red spots and fever-" "The girl- she's got the Red Plague-" "Keep back ! Keep away from the boy. Contagion-" "Poor little ones, they're done for."

_Stupid, frightened humans._ Hass-ur bares his teeth.

"Jarl, give the lad some food. Just leave it on the ground there. That's right. You pick it up after we leave, boy. These are war-horses, high strung. We wouldn't want you to get hurt, now, would we." The human's voice is strained, unused to the lies it is telling. Then the hooves pound away into the distance.

The boy staggers into the barn carrying a pack. His face, white, is drenched with sweat. He collapses in the straw. The girl releases the breath she has been holding, a sob. Hass-ur allows her to crawl to her brother. The children cling to one another. The Uruk-hai throws back his head in a silent cry of triumph. _I live. _


	4. The Third Day

Hass-ur's mind races, thoughts swirling, surging. His plan, ruined by the Whiteskins, the stinking Rohirrim. _They took the horse. _Rage. His hands clench. _I will not lie here waiting for death._ He must leave, hide. His leg still will not hold his weight. How long until it heals ? Two more days ? A week ? There is no knowledge he can draw on. With injuries this severe, the treatment is simple – a hastened death and fresh meat for the iron cook-pots. _No. I will live._ An image comes into his mind, the Master leaning on his black staff. A spear-shaft. _A staff of my own, to lean on. _

"Hass-ur ? Please, it's Eothain. I think he's sick." The girl-maggot, eyes bright, wet.

Stupid, weak, human children. Small, worthless burdens. _Take the food. Set fire to the barn. Run. Hide. Live. _The girl-child's hand on his arm, small and soft. Her eyes, like the sky after rain, pleading. No. He cannot run. Hass-ur growls in frustration.

The girl-maggot does not back away. "Please. Help my brother."

Hass-ur remembers the boy's hands, splinting his shattered leg, wrapping the bandages. The boy will understand this new thought, the idea of a spear-shaft to use for walking. _I still need the boy._ The thought is an annoyance, nothing more, like the girl-maggot tugging at him. Hass-ur lets her pull him to the boy's side, her soft little hand holding his hard calloused one. The boy-maggot is shaking as though cold, his small body burning hot. Eyes stare up at Hass-ur, glazed, unseeing.

"He's got a fever, he's sick. Help him."

Hass-ur shrugs. "I don't know how." He is unashamed. The fighting Uruk-hai do not need such knowledge. "I only kill." The girl stamps a small foot. _More defiance. _It amuses him. _Silly little maggot. _

"You have to wipe his face." She frowns, concentrating. "And put a cool cloth on his forehead. And say, _there, there, go to sleep_."

"You do it."

The rain begins to fall again. "I tried. It doesn't help."

A snarl of frustration. Rage. All his plans, thwarted. _I still need the boy. _Hass-ur takes the cloth the girl-child holds out, wets it with water, swipes roughly, ineffectually at the boy's face. The maggot-child shudders, water running down his face, into his matted hair.

"No, no. Wring it out." Impatient, the girl-child takes over. Hass-ur watches. Gentle little hands, soft little voice, crooning. "Go to sleep," he echoes her, a hoarse growl. "Go to sleep. When darkness comes, I'll take you to Edoras." The boy blinks, river-blue eyes focused on Hass-ur's face, suddenly lucid, hopeful. "Yes. Sleep now." The boy-child closes his eyes. Hass-ur pulls the girl against his chest, readjusts the leash around his wrist. "Sleep."

-----

The red eye of the sun, setting. They eat the food supplied by the horse-boys, dried meat and flat bread. The boy is pale, weak, but his skin is cool, the fever broken. "Will you really take us... t-to Edoras ?" A whisper, eyes filled with fear, with hope.

"You cut me a stick. A staff." Black-clawed hands sketch the dimensions in the air. "To lean on," Hass-ur explains. "To walk with." Anxiety. Will the boy understand ? Hass-ur feels rage, red, blinding. At himself, for his need, his fear. At the human-maggot-child, for having this power over him. He snarls, clenches his fists helplessly.

"You want a crutch." Understanding. Eagerness. "I can make you one, easy."

Hass-ur blinks. He jerks the girl's leash, pulling her into his grasp. "Do it," he orders harshly, "now." The boy nods, eagerness replaced by wariness in an instant. Hass-ur frowns as the boy stumbles from the barn. _He was ready to help me, even before I threatened the girl. Why ? I am his enemy._

-----

In the fading twilight, they set out. The crutch that the boy has made from a forked branch works beyond Hass-ur's wildest expectations. It is even padded with straw and rags, for comfort. Comfort. The concept amuses him. Baffles him. He drags himself to his feet, leaning against the door frame for support. Putting the crutch in place, he takes a step, then another. He crosses the barnyard, leans against the fence for a moment, pushes himself upright. _Resting already ? Am I so weak ? No. _A low growl of defiance. _The fighting Uruk-hai are strong. They do not fear pain. _The children watch him, wide-eyed. "We go, now." The boy, still sick, totters. The girl, small and useless, dawdles. _Weak little Whiteskin maggots. _The Uruk-hai is glad to blame them for the lack of progress. Step. Plant the crutch. Swing forward. He steadies himself, leaning on the crutch. Step. Each swing that takes the weight off his injured leg is an instant of relief, each step an eternity of pain.

The moon rises. They make their slow way across the plains. The girl-child chatters. Hass-ur endures it. Her piping voice distracts from the agony in his leg. "-and in the land of the gods, two trees grow, one with golden sun-apples, and one with silver moon-apples," she concludes. She yawns, falls silent for a time. A line of trees appears in the distance, grows closer with terrible slowness. Step. Plant the crutch. Swing, and step. "-and then Mama told Eothain to ride Garold to Edoras, to warn the King. Mama will find us in Edoras," she tells him confidently. A long pause. Another yawn. "Do you have a mother, Hass-ur ? You must have," she answers her own question, "everyone has a mother."

"No."

She stares up at him, her face a pale round blur in the moonlight. "What ?"

"I don't have a mother."

The girl-child drags her feet. "Did she die ? Poor Hass-ur," she mumbles sleepily.

"No. The Master..." he ponders, laboriously. He is tired, he realizes. _No. Weakness. _He rejects it. The shelter of the tress beckons, so close. "He made me. Us. The fighting Uruk-hai. To be his weapons. To kill."

The soft hand pats his arm, slips away. "He must be a very bad man."

Step. Pause. Plant the crutch. Swing. Step. Pause. The boy tugs at his other arm. "We have to stop. Freda has to rest." Hass-ur jerks the leash. The girl stumbles forward. Plant the crutch. Swing and step. A long pause. "Please. She can't go on."

Another tug on the leash. There is no response. The girl lies on the grass, fast asleep under the pale, cold eye of the moon. _Fall behind, be left behind._ Hass-ur lets the leash trail from his wrist. Plant the crutch. Pause.

"Don't leave us."

Hass-ur turns, leaning heavily on his crutch. "Fall behind, be left behind."

"No !" The boy glares. "I- I'll carry her, then."

_Still defiant._ He watches the boy struggle to sling the girl-child onto his back. He takes one staggering step forward. Two steps. The boy falls to his knees. Hass-ur takes a breath, blows it out through his teeth, a sigh of resignation. "Help me lift her." The girl-child's small weight on his shoulder seems enough to crush him. _I can't... No ! I am Hass-ur, of the fighting Uruk-hai ! _He snarls. Plant the crutch, swing, step. Two steps, three, four. The boy pulls Hass-ur's arm over his narrow shoulders, supporting part of Hass-ur's weight with the remnants of his small strength. At last, together, they reach the trees. The shadows, the sheltering darkness. The trickle of a stream below.

The boy's teeth flash white in the gloom. "We made it." Hass-ur lets the girl-child slide off his shoulder, slumps to the ground, holding her. The boy snuggles against him, one arm flung across his chest. They sleep. Beneath the trees, beneath the pale cold eye of the moon.

-----

The warmth of the sun on his face, the flicker of light and shadow through his eyelids, the calling of birds in his ears. Hass-ur wakes, alone. The bird-cries, abruptly silenced. The pounding of horses' hooves, distant, coming closer. He reaches for his sword, for the girl-child's leash. Nothing.

"Hass-ur." The children crouch in the bushes on the other side of the little stream, just beyond reach. Past the trees, the rolling land rises, foothills plodding one after another into the distance. The girl-child smiles at him, eyes just one shade darker than the morning sky, trusting. "It's time for us to go," the boy-child says. "Meduseld is just beyond those hills." He gestures toward the higher hills, barely visible through the golden morning haze. His eyes watch Hass-ur, darker than the sky, darker than his sister's. Cautious. Wary. Hass-ur's sword lies on the ground beside the stream, dragged beyond the Uruk's reach. "A patrol is coming. W-we won't tell them you're here. We won't tell anyone, ever. Right, Freda ?" The girl nods. Smiling. Trusting.

Time slows. _Draw the dagger. Throw it at the boy. _Hass-ur can picture the black-hilted dagger protruding from the boy's thin chest, the red blood welling up, pooling on the ground under his body. _Roll down the slope, across the stream. Grab the girl's leg, pull her back, break her neck, crush her windpipe. _He can see himself doing it, killing them. Looking into the river-eyes staring back at him across the trickle of water, he knows the boy can see it too. The boy moves, slow-motion, pushing his sister behind him. One more moment, and she will be out of the shelter of the trees. Out in view of the approaching Rohirrim.

The girl-child looks back, still smiling. "Goodbye, Hass-ur."

There is still time. The boy pushes her again, his eyes locked on Hass-ur. Pleading. Hass-ur lets them go. _This is mercy. No ! _He snarls. _This is weakness._ Hass-ur rolls across the narrow gully, drags himself up the slope on the far side, ignoring the pain in his leg. The pounding hooves, still faint. The cloud of dust far across the rolling hills of grass. Too far away to see the children, just tiny specks against the line of trees. Hass-ur bends the black orc-bow, knocks a barbed black arrow. He has time to shoot them both. They will fall in the tall, thick grass. The Whiteskins will never know. Will never catch him. He draws the arrow back, takes aim between the boy's shoulders. Long minutes pass. _Weakness. _He curses it, curses himself. The boy will betray his hiding place. The horses will bear down on him, trampling. The Rohirrim will kill him. Still he holds the arrow against the bow-string, watching until the children have passed out of range, until the riders have come close enough to see them.

A distant shout, the cloud of dust changing course, pounding closer, pulling up short as the two are surrounded, lifted high onto the backs of swift steeds, borne away over the rolling hills. Bird-song resumes, dappled sunlight beats down through green leaves. Hass-ur waits, resigned, sometimes dozing. The sun follows its slow arc across the sky, reddens, sinks into the west. The Rohirrim do not return. _I have shown mercy... and been granted mercy in return. _

At last, there is nothing but the darkness, the pain, slowly fading now, healing. The waning moon looks down on Hass-ur. He is alone. One thing is left. The will to live, the will to be. To understand. Hass-ur picks up his crutch and steps out of the sheltering dark, into the silver-white light of the moon. He turns toward the mountains, toward the west. He begins his journey. And the moon shines down.

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Author's notes: Thank you to Steelsheen, Wolf of the Easterlings, Wolf of Gondor, She-Elf4, Patty, Imithwennyere, =), I'm lovin' it, red mage 1, and draylon for the reviews, constructive criticism, and encouragement.


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